


By Any Other Name

by Amledo



Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bonding, FTM Ichabod, FTM Trans, Female to Male Character, Gay Male Character, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Other, Post canon, Romance, Soul Bond, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ichabod, Transgender, ignores ending, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amledo/pseuds/Amledo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod has a secret, he was born Isabella.  But he won't let a secret from his past stop him from being the man that Sleepy Hollow needs to save it from a curse.  Nor will he allow it to prevent him from finding love in the last place that he would have expected it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N: This is a bug that crawled into my brain and refused to be ignored. I know that I have other fics to be working on, but I am hoping that this will be the spark that I need in order to get back to writing them. Otherwise I have been too preoccupied with the writing of two separate novels, neither of which are ready to be published, but should hopefully be close enough soon to allow me to breathe before too much longer. Anyway, I am always disappointed by the lack of trans! Representation in the world of fanfiction and the novels in general so I present to you Trans! Ichabod Crane/Hessian. On with the show!)

Little after her third birthday, Isabella Crane ceased to exist and Ichabod Crane quietly took her place. He was a sweet boy with a gentle heart. Though he was a bit weak physically he had a spirit that burned brightly in his mother’s eyes. The strength of his heart and shine of his soul had told his doting mother to rectify the mistake that had been made when he was born. How could she ever have been convinced that she’d borne a daughter? Certainly Ichabod himself was pleased to be engaging his mind and body as a boy, more so than he ever had been when he’d been mistaken as Isabella.

The pair had lived removed from the rest of the world for the most part, with Ichabod’s father gone for so many years as a traveling inquisitor. The man had never known whether his wife had survived her pregnancy, let alone what she had borne him. So when he finally, finally came home, she introduced him to the fragile boy that was Ichabod and he seemed pleased with the news, if disappointed by the inherent weakness of such a small child.

Ichabod continued to grow, seeing little of his father and living safe within the embrace of his mother. As he turned seven she introduced him to a tonic that he would take for the rest of his life. It would ensure that while he would never be physically male, he would never develop into a woman like his mother. Ichabod was no fool; he knew that there was more than herbs in the drink, magic sparkled in his fingers and tongue for hours on the days that he was given it. But he was thankful, he had never wanted to be a woman, had no desire to wear a dress or wait idly for some man to sweep him off his feet. He had dreams of being a police officer, of being a scientist, neither of which he would have been allowed to do were he a woman.

He did not think it fair that women were supposed to be meek and fragile, sheltered away from the world or denied knowledge on the premise that they were somehow the weaker sex. Part of him was grateful to his mother for realizing what he had felt about himself, his frustration and confusion with his body after he’d snuck one of her anatomy books to read. But another part was worried that she would suffer for the boon that she had granted him. If it meant protecting his mother then he would allow himself to be Isabella once again.

A daughter of nature who saw souls as plainly as others saw the trees; she refused to constrict him and told him that she loved him as he was.

In the end, it was not their shared secret that had cost her her life; it was his father’s indulgence in ale and brandy, and his fanatical search for heresy. The herbalism that had given Ichabod his chance to be himself, and the small magic that helped their garden to bloom and prosper, had ended her life. Ichabod, though spared the torture of suspected witchcraft himself due to his age, was none the less sent away from his home. He was slapped into the seminary where he was to learn proper piety and service to the Lord God and his superiors.

As soon as he was his own man, he broke from the school and threw himself into the study of law and the sciences. They were his passion, his one love. He wielded them like weapons, razor sharp and precise against men like his father who accused without proof. It earned him fans and enemies alike amongst the people of the fledgling United States. But it eventually caused such a rift between himself and his superiors that he was shipped off to die in the deeply suspicious and superstitious village that was Sleepy Hollow.

Surrounded by such talk of witchcraft and in fear that he might be caught up in a wave of fear that would put him in his father’s shoes as an inquisitor, he vehemently stuck to science. He could see, smell, taste the magic around him and used some of his own to prevent the binding of a love spell woven by the child witch Katrina. Of course he understood her fascination with him; he was a learned man from the city, a stranger and thus exotic, in no way connected to the hamlet that she’d known all her life. He himself was completely taken by the concept of the Hessian Horseman, a powerful manifestation of spirit betrayed and magic most foul.

When the Horseman’s skull found its way into his hand, he felt a surge of magic rush through him that had nothing to do with either witch in the vicinity. The Horseman himself had been powerful; the sort capable of ensuring that he could be called to service whenever someone had need of him as a protector. In that instant the demon of a man that had been known for slaying so many became something else in Ichabod’s mind and his decision was made. It would not be his own magic that finished the conflict; it would be the Hessian’s. He watched with grim fascination as the skull became flesh and the Horseman’s eyes found his. There was a brief spark of acknowledgement and then the Horseman took the dark witch away and Ichabod felt a part of himself drawn with them, his mind falling dark in the process.

Something wrenched at his heart when he left Sleepy Hollow and it wasn’t the fact that he’d left Katrina in the arms of another man, nor young Masbeth as part of the restoration project. No, something in the Western Woods tugged at his spirit until he ordered the carriage to stop and disembarked. He waved away concern and told the coachman to return to the village at his leisure before vanishing into the dark forest around him.

Years of regimented scientific thinking slid to the back of his mind and he saw the world has his mother had taught him to, seeing the bond between himself and the Hessian with little difficulty. It was like a tangible thing, and when he wrapped his hands around it, it pulsed with life, flaring brighter. Not long after, he heard the driving sound of hooves and paused mid-step to stare at the black beast that was Daredevil and his grim rider.

Ichabod raised his chin and stared calmly into grey-blue eyes. The Hessian smiled slightly and swung himself gracefully from the back of his mount. In not more than a few long strides, he’d closed most of the gap between them, leaving Ichabod to tilt his head further to keep him in sight.

“You call me, what do you require?” the Hessian asked in broken English. Ichabod paused before speaking, the bond between them flaring brighter than ever.

“I…wish to ensure that no one can control you ever again. Your spirit deserves to be at rest, called only when you are truly needed as the defender that you are meant to be. You relish death, but only of those who would do harm to your charges. I see that plainly now, despite the fear of the villagers. What can I do to help?” Ichabod said, finding his voice and making it as strong as he could. The Hessian intimidated him in a way he could not understand, made him feel things that he had no name for, nor dared to put a name to.

“You have already done that dear one. You felt the bond respond to you, and it rises above all others. As long as your soul and mine are joined then no one save you can call me to their purpose,” the Hessian said and Ichabod realized that he had shifted to his natural German. The magic that bound them must have communicated the words though, as Ichabod spoke no more than a few words of the language.

“Is the bond something that a witch could strip away from me?” Ichabod asked, looking between the glowing bond and the calm eyes of the Hessian. His companion seemed to consider something for a long moment and Ichabod waited patiently, attempting to ignore the strange heat that surged in his chest under that gaze.

“Yes, but there is nothing to be done about it, I’m afraid. Not without damning you to a half-life such as I live. You are strong for one so young Ichabod, I believe you will protect it well,” the Hessian said and Ichabod shook his head, smiling softly.

“I am nearly 30, no longer a young man,” Ichabod said with a chuckle and managed not to flinch when a strong hand reached out to cup his jaw, directing his face into the light. Tentatively, Ichabod licked his lips and resisted the urge to pull away.

Without a word, the Horseman stepped into his space, free hand sliding gently along Ichabod’s hip. The younger man felt his breath hitch in his chest as the bond they shared flared briefly brighter than the sun. If he was going to speak, he could not remember the words and his throat clicked uselessly has he tried to swallow against the nervous anticipation that welled in his chest.

“Ichabod Crane, you are more than I ever expected to encounter. My proper name is lost to the grave, but you may call me your own if you wish,” the Hessian said gently and brushed a glove covered thumb along Ichabod’s lips.

“I…I do wish to,” Ichabod admitted, his heart pounding with excitement. No one had ever made him feel like that and he never wanted it to end.

“I am glad,” the Hessian replied simply and gently pressed his lips against the smaller man’s. Ichabod found his legs in that moment and wrapped his arms firmly around the other man, pulling him as close as he dared with the encumbrance of the armor he wore. If the way the Hessian smirked into the kiss was anything to go by, Ichabod was certain that the other man wanted a lover that could respond with intensity. Their kiss seemed to go on for hours, and when they finally pulled back from one another, Ichabod could have sworn that the sun had sunk lover in the sky by a good measure.

“A half-life lived with you, would be better than a full life lived alone,” Ichabod whispered, leaning his head against the taller man’s neck. The Horseman’s hand splayed itself between his shoulders and held him tight as Daredevil trotted toward them.

“At any time you wish, I will deliver you back to this world,” the Hessian said softly, staring down into Ichabod’s eyes for a long moment. The young man smiled and nodded, knowing that he would never need to ask such a thing.

Once they were in the saddle, the Hessian gently tucked Ichabod’s head under his chin and cradled him with one arm. The ride was quick and smooth, and the transition to the limbo in which the Horseman dwelt seemed to take no time at all. Ichabod gasped, staring around the strange place that he’d been brought to, the grey sky was nearly featureless above them, the forest in the same winter state as that of the one in the living world. In place of the tree sat a small cottage, smooth stone and well-kept, just big enough for two.

“You like it?” the Horseman asked, intrigued and Ichabod smiled.

“It’s perfect,” Ichabod responded and allowed himself to be guided into the little home and enveloped in the warmth of a cheerfully burning fire. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he turned and kissed the Hessian as hard as he could, and it seemed the right thing to do. The other man pressed him close and kissed back with equal ardor, barely breaking away to remove the impediment that was his cloak and armor.

They left the heavy gear on the floor, as it had been nearly forgotten when Ichabod’s quest to touch his lover had led to his hand sliding up under the other man’s shirt. The Hessian panted softly with need and pressed Ichabod down into the bed that he’d slept alone in for so long. It was bigger now, he noticed as they shoved at each other’s shirts so that their bare flesh could meet.

Ichabod moaned quietly when his lover’s lips caressed his neck and his fingers worked deftly to undo the other man’s pants. He knew little of what to do and felt guided by something that he could not understand. It was not a compulsion; he knew that, but rather something like confidence. As soon as he was free, the Hessian repaid the favor and liberated Ichabod’s body from his remaining clothes.

There was a brief pause as the Hessian slid one finger along the wetness that awaited him where he had expected something more like himself.  
“Is there…something wrong?” Ichabod asked, even as he groaned in pleasure at the sensation of his lover’s curiously probing fingers.

“Not a thing. You are simply a marvel the type of which I’ve seen rarely even in my many years. You cannot carry a child?” the Horseman said, sliding his hands over Ichabod’s narrow hips.

“So long as I take my tonic I will remain as I am. Do you wish me to stop?” Ichabod asked, finding himself terrified by the prospect that he was indeed willing to give up his own happiness with his body for the man he’d so recently feared.

“No, I wish you to be yourself. I will love you whatever your form. If you ask me to love you only as men can love, then I shall,” the other man said softly and Ichabod blushed, reaching up to draw his lover down against himself.

“We have time; you can love me in any way you want. I am not so uncomfortable with myself that I don’t wish to be taken by my lover,” Ichabod responded, pressing his lips against his lover’s and allowing the other man to join them in body as they were in soul. The younger man moaned breathlessly, there was some pain, but it soon passed as the feeling of completion rapidly built itself in his body. It seemed that his lover would not be far behind as the Hessian’s own moans joined the sounds that filled the room.  
Ichabod had never felt so complete, so relaxed, or so content. It was love, he realized, the bond that had been formed by their magics, it was love. And he laid his head on his partner’s chest with a small smile as he basked in that knowledge.

“Thank you, for not thinking me less a man,” he whispered against the other man and felt an arm tighten around him in response.  
“A man is a man no matter what his shape,” the Hessian responded gently, wrapping a blanket around both of them, lulling his lover to sleep as best he could.

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N: Well folks, let me know what you thought. I would like genuine commentary as I’ve never actually written a fic with someone transgendered as a character. I hope that I captured it well. Thanks for reading.)


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